Like a Legend
by Song of Grey Lemons
Summary: They never came back, but I told their stories. Now, the moon sings their legend to the night.


**Like a Legend**

Disclaimer: I own nothing that you can recognize. If I owned X-men, _The Last Stand_ would vanish into oblivion. Or at least Jean would be alive.

A/N: This is post-X3, but Jean has returned. Sadly, Scott and Charles have not (yet, anyway).

It is summer, and the sunsets are red and beautiful, the kind of lovely that is painful to watch. A kind of vivid reminder of the past, the war. My companion is the moon, not the sunset. The twilight wakes my soul, the darkness overcoming and washing away misery, leaving behind a kind of emptiness. It is my pain reliever, like nature's prescription medicine. It works wonderfully, even if the world has no medical degree.

Each night, it is the same. I sit on the porch, alone, watching the moon's progress through the sky. Although I generally bear with it, I have to admit that it gets quite lonely. My only companion, the moon, happens to be mute; all my conversations that take place in the dark are rather one sided. At first, when I had just returned, people stayed away from me, fearing me. Once I'd somehow managed to prove that Phoenix was gone, dead, they were all sympathetic, asking if I wanted a companion at night. I responded with one word: no. And so they stopped. Some no longer care, while others are watching me in sadness. These are the ones who can see that I am slowly wasting away. To kill a person, a living being, it…weighs on you, in an odd sort of way. Because when the Phoenix leaves you, you realize what it- no, what _you_- have done. Because you can't go on living normally after you have ended an innocent life, especially one of someone that you loved.

The voices of Charles, Scott, and all of the mutants and people that the Phoenix- no, I- murdered, all of the beings whose names I did not even know- these voices have not left me. These things cling to you, tearing you apart. Only one thing can remove them- night. It comes imperceptibly, sneaking up on you. Slowly, it forms a shroud that takes away all guilt and replaces it with the moon. But when the moon sets, the feelings come back. I guess I've become nocturnal, living in a sort of world that appears only in the evenings. I guess that everyone but a few people are still afraid of me. Afraid to provoke the beast. So, when some of the mansion's youngest residents come to rescue me, I don't refuse. In fact, I am grateful.

The rescue comes in an odd form, namely in the form of a student named Verity. She appears one night, beside me. I don't even notice her coming, though this is honestly not very surprising. Verity is nine, actually named Annette, small and thin for her age, and a lie detector. Somehow, her mutation allows her to tell whether or not someone is lying. Because of this, she can lie without anyone knowing, too. As I once heard her telling another student, it comes with practice. So, when I finally notice her lithe frame beside me and ask her how long she's been here, her answer ("Oh, not long, just a few seconds") is not necessarily truthful. Not that it matters. I move over in the swing's seat to make room for the girl. She sits and tucks her short, light brown hair behind her ears.

"Mirror and Demeter wanted a bedtime story and I've used all of mine up," she says, looking at me. Something about her voice is part asking and part accusing. I consider her unspoken request for a bit. Mirror and Demeter are the youngest female students at the school, eight-year-old twins. Mirror, who has the ability to copy the movements of others exactly, often boasts of being born ten minutes before Demeter, who can make any plant grow at an unnatural rate.

"So," I ask, "you want me to tell one tonight?" I look into my counterpart's eyes. They're big and brown, and full of kindness.

"Yes." Her reply is short and to the point. Good. I nod, get up, and take her hand, letting her lead me to the room that she shares with the twins. We walk up a flight of stairs, turn a corner, and open a door that Verity left unlocked. She pulls me over the threshold and sits me down in a small, pale pink chair. Mirror and Demeter are already watching me expectantly. I look around and try my best to smile convincingly.

"What kind of story do you guys want?" I ask them cautiously. Mirror is the one who responds.

"We like them all, Dr. Grey," she giggles, staring at me with a sort of hunger. A hunger for stories. I bite my lip. I don't really know too many stories and I'm sure that any that I _do_ know have already been told to these children. I search my mental bookshelf. The ugly duckling appears to have run away, Snow White is on vacation, and Goldilocks is sleeping in a spare bed at the home of the three bears. With utter horror, I realize that I can not remember a single story from start to finish. The butterflies that have been dormant for years begin to wake up in my stomach. I try to calm down. _Relax,_ I tell myself. _You'll just have to make something up as you go. No big deal, Jean. Right? You've done this before. It's all going to be fine. Just…get a grip, okay, Jeanie? _I take a deep breath and begin.

"In ancient times, there was a valley in which there lived a group of gods and goddesses. All of them were unique and extraordinary in their own way. This was because they all had special powers." I look around at my audience. Each girl is watching me intently. The younger two are already captivated. I can see in their minds that they are imagining this valley of gods. Verity, on the other hand, is calm, even analytical. _So far so good…_

"The gods often worked to protect the world. They tried to stop bad things from happening with their powers. They all had different roles: there was a god of ice, Icicle, who could freeze; there was Mentor, who taught the gods all that they needed to know; a god of fire, Burn, who could burn; a goddess of touch, Glove, whose weapon was her own skin; a goddess of the weather, Fog, who could control the skies; Crescent, goddess of the moon and elements; a god of war and healing, Claw, who could murder with his bones and heal with his flesh; a god of seeing, Eye, whose gaze was deadly; a goddess of movement, Travel, who could move through anything; and there was a goddess of though, of feeling, of moving thing with one's will, and of rebirth." They students watched, staring in awe.

"Her name was Ash, because her hair was red like fire and because she could be reborn from her own ashes.

"One day, the gods and goddesses had to go on a mission of sorts, to save the world from a corrupt man. They fought long and hard and won. But just as they were leaving, something happened." I can practically feel their attention now.

"An old dam broke, spilling water everywhere. It was deadly to be caught in the crushing flow, and the gods' chariot was stuck. They would have met their doom if Ash hadn't made a move. She stood, unnoticed, and left the chariot, stepping out into the cold. With her power of will movement, sometimes called telekinesis, she stopped the flow of water, creating a force field around the chariot. Then, she lifted the chariot into the sky and let it fly." In order to emphasize my point, I lift the beds of the twins and Verity into the air. I let them hover for a moment, permitting Mirror and Demeter to squeal in delight. As I do so, I feel a strange sort of sensation course through me. That's when I realize that this is the first time I've used my powers since I've returned. And, just like that, I know that I am no longer afraid of them. I set the beds down and continue.

"But there was a catch. Ash had to sacrifice herself because she was still stuck in the force field. She could not hold her shield forever, but if she released it, she would die. And so, looking at the chariot one last time, she let the water fall." I look around. Silence. It fills the air. The twins are speechless. Verity is still watching me intently, looking into my eyes. I can see in her mind the plea for me to continue. I decide to consent.

"If it were anyone but Ash, the tale would have ended there. But it was Ash who had left the chariot, and so we must continue. Before her death Ash had loved Eye. Eye was a descendant of the Cyclopes that had lived long ago. Like his ancestors, he was strong at heart and had always led the gods in battle. But he was changed. Ash's death sent something crashing down inside him, and so Fog was forced to take over. Fog and Claw worked together, helping the other gods in his stead. Eye could do this no longer. He was going mad, hearing voices in his head. Ash's voice would whisper to him in the night, until he wanted to scream. Every day, every hour, the memory of Ash tormented him. And so he went to search for her." I draw breath, letting the tension rise around me. _You're not a bad storyteller, Jeanie,_ the voice in my head tells me. I have to restrain myself from laughing. _Yeah, when I'm telling my own story,_ I think before continuing.

"When Eye came to the lake where Ash lay, he saw that nothing had changed since he'd left. But something was different. The air smelled wrong and the wind felt wrong. Something that was meant to lay in peace had been woken. But _what_ had been risen was still unknown.

"Now, I can tell you what had happened and why the air felt different. When Ash had fallen, she had accidentally left some of the shield around her. And so she lived. But over time, her body became taken over by a spirit. It called itself the Inferno, and it had no morality. On the outside, she was Ash, but inside her, there raged a war between Ash and the Inferno. The Inferno always seemed to be winning, but Ash sometimes surfaced. But, of course, Eye did not know this." I glance out the window. The porch swing is still moving slightly with the breeze.

"Eye walked out to the edge of the shore and called out Ash's name. And she rose. Majestic, beautiful, she came out of the water. Her red hair flowed down her back, a cascade of fire. He stared, for his wish to see Ash had been granted. But he saw not Ash, but the Inferno. And the Inferno saw him as an obstacle. And so it killed him." I have to pause. I cannot go on. The memories that my tale brings are shearing, blazing like hot coals. Still fresh in my mind, still able to burn… I feel a tear cooling my burning cheek. It slides, a delicate moonstone, over my skin. A moon beam catches it for a second, but then my face falls back into shadow, taking the tear with it. I am breaking and I know it. I just must finish my story. For Mirror and Demeter and for Verity. And, indirectly, for myself.

I am quite sure that the girls have stopped breathing. Their eyes are wide open, staring at me with horror and interest. Verity continues to analyze the truthfulness of what I am saying, but even her mind is bursting with awe.

I wonder what she is thinking. The Verity part of her has probably already realized that I am, in essence, telling a varnished version of the truth, while Annette just wanted to hear my story without thinking about it, just to be awed by the gods and goddesses. I understand her almost too well for my liking.

"Claw and Fog found her laying there, paralyzed. She was clutching Eye's..." I trail off. _Should I say 'glasses?' _ I think. The voice in my head remains silent. I turn to the only one who can help me. Verity nods her head ever so slightly. And I know. "Glasses."

"And so, they brought her home into the care Mentor. But the Inferno did not need Mentor. He had caged her, and she was angry. And she killed him, too." My story is becoming a bit morbid now. But this is how life is. Morbid.

"So, Ash and the Inferno fled from the Valley of the Gods. The traveled around the world, leaving only destruction in their path. Sometimes, Ash would resurface and try to restore calm, but she was always overpowered. At last, the other gods and goddesses caught up with her. Then began the final battle. Each of the gods tried to conquer the Inferno. Fog tried to shock her with a thunderbolt, but she deflected it. Travel tried to move through her. Crescent tried to quell her flames, but failed. On and on it went, and in the end, Ash reappeared. She turned to Claw and told him to save her. And, in all the ways that mattered, he did. He killed her." Mirror is entranced, her eyes wide as orbs. Demeter bears a near identical expression. Verity is watching me, still waiting. I feel as though she is testing me. Perhaps she is.

"One day, many months later, Ash returned. The Inferno was gone, dead, but Ash was still not the same. She was changed. Sadness filled her heart instead of happiness. Time had changed her. The inferno had burnt her soul." I look around. I am silently crying, the moonstones becoming far more frequent. Demeter looks at me, almost hopefully.

"What happened to Eye and Mentor?" she asks. "Were they alright, too?" The longing for more tales is evident in her voice.

I am torn. My lips are almost longing to form the words that will tell her that Scott and- no, Eye and Mentor did come back, that everyone 'lived happily ever after.' But then, my eyes catch on Verity. And then I know that she is testing me. The twins won't know if I lie, but Verity will. What does she want me to do? I look into her deep brown eyes, and then I know. "They never came back."

"Oh, that's a shame. Maybe they will, someday," Mirror tells me, smiling sadly. I smile back. I realize that the words of this eight-year-old bring me more comfort than any sorry-for-your-loss-es coming from an adult. Because Mirror's words have hope. And I love them for it.

"Maybe. Now, good night, sleep tight, and don't let the bed bugs bite," I say, rising from the chair and walking over to the beds of the twins. I kiss each of them on the forehead and pull their covers up to their chins. They giggle. I turn to Verity.

"Good night, my friend."

Her response is unexpected. "Good night, Ash." I grin and leave the room.

I walk back out to the deck where I spend my nights. The moon, shines down on me. _Crescent,_ I think. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. I listen for a few moments to all of the sounds of night. The cicadas cry in the bushes and the owls hoot in the rustling trees. The moon sits, silent, above the scene. Its light cascades through the dark, creating a sort of silver glisten. I take in the evening air. It tastes of peace, of quite, of creek-water, and of moonlight. Then, I turn around and head back into the house. I walk to my room and open the window, letting the flavorful air in. It floods the room filling the space around me. And, for the first time in what seems to be a month of Sundays, I spend the night sleeping.

I dream of Snow White, the Ugly Duckling, and of Goldilocks.

8


End file.
